Eyes on the Prize
by JoanIncarnate
Summary: Grimmjow is a German swimmer, Ichigo is a Japanese swimmer, both of whom are competing in the Olympics. Cue the language barriers, speedo situations, and rivalry that goes a bit further than "friendly".


**WARNINGS: **Yaoi of the GrimmIchi variety, butchering of the Japanese and German language, probably inaccurate Olympic facts

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters used in this story do not belong to me, nor does the story of _Bleach. _They belong to Tite Kubo, and I could only wish I was as talented. All I own is this plotline, which is 100% mine. _Many thanks to _**MissTika202** _for helping out with the German!_

* * *

Grimmjow scratched his chin boredly as he waited for the microphones, speakers, clocks, and other technical things to be examined. Sitting with the rest of the Olympic swimmers on the bleachers, Grimmjow closed his eyes and stilled his nerves as he closed off his mind. He breathed in, and out, in and out. Deep breaths. Focus. Just focus on the music blaring in his ears from his earbuds. Eyes on the prize. Nothing but him and his thoughts.

And now there was a foot on his foot. What. The. Fuck.

Glaring before his eyes were even open, Grimmjow growled. Whoever it was that had the balls to step on his foot, to break him out of his meditation, to dare _disturb_ him, he was going to rip the fucker a new hole. Who- oh.

Startled brown eyes gazed into his own and the tanned, orange-haired young man stepped back, appearing much like a deer in headlights. Bowing his head slightly, the man said, "_Eto,_" scratching the back of his neck, "_Su__mimasen. Shitsureishimashita._" [Uh, sorry. Excuse me.]

And he had no idea what the orange-haired swimmer said, but Grimmjow grunted and tucked his feet closer to himself. Looking at the other swimmer who was still standing in front of him, Grimmjow just hummed and said, "_Du hast Glück, du bist hübsch_." [You're lucky you're pretty.]

The other swimmer paused and nodded at him with a fair amount of confusion all over his face, before continuing to his seat on the other bleacher. Grimmjow watched him go, thoroughly enjoying the view of the young man in his speedo. Yum. Swimmer's body.

He remembered seeing the other swimmer during the opening ceremony. Grimmjow had already walked in with his fellow athletes from Germany and was waiting for the rest of the countries to come in. The cheers of fans and VIP's and the blinding lights of the stadium were like nothing he had ever experienced. The sheer thrill and excitement drumming through his blood made him grin, undoubtedly like a maniac what with his way of baring all his teeth. He loved the roar of the crowd and knowing that the moment he and his teammates entered, the entire country of Germany would be screaming for him. He loved the adrenaline of the moment and he lived for knowing that he was one of the best swimmers in the world. Yet after standing there, waiting (which is admittedly not his strong suit) for hours on end for the rest of countries to come in (and damn it, how many countries in the world where there!), the momentum of the moment had started to fade.

A loud roar alerted him that another country was coming. A large white flag with a red dot told of the arrival of Japan's athletes. And right on cue, a group of Asians in red and white walked in, cheering and waving proudly. Nothing that he hadn't seen within the last hour but- whoa. What was that? Grimmjow did a double take and yup, he was right the first time, that was definitely orange hair on top of the Japanese athlete.

Part of him wondered if the guy had dyed his hair and part of him thought he really was not one to wonder that. But hey, the Japanese athlete definitely pulled the look off well. He walked in with his head held high and a weird little grinning-frown in place, if that was even possible. The guy looked pretty short for certain sports but obviously fit. Lithe and toned. Maybe a runner? Diver? Yeah, he had no idea. _No matter,_ he had thought at the time. _As long as he wasn't a swimmer._

Now, Grimmjow cursed his luck. And, of course, the guy had to be even prettier up close. But pretty boy or not, Grimmjow wasn't going easy on him. Or anyone. He had been training day and night for this since practically the moment he stepped foot into the world, and no one was going to get in the way of him and his victory.

A man signaled the swimmers to rise. Grimmjow and the rest stood by the startline and began their stretching, loosening their muscles, cracking their joints. They crouched at the blue slanted boards, preparing their dives. Grimmjow caught the stare of Pretty Boy and grinned.

"On your marks..."

Grimmjow winked and savored the stunned, if not slightly offended, face on Pretty Boy and faced forward. _Now_, it was time to focus. Breathe in, breathe out.

A mechanical beeping signaled the start and they were off.

* * *

Preparing for his next event, Grimmjow quietly seethed as the orange-haired swimmer walked towards the bleachers again. Catching each others' eyes, he could almost feel the crackling intensity between electric blue and amber brown. They scowled at each other, fierce and animalistic, before looking away. Neither of them wanted their animosity being caught by the paparazzi.

The nerve of that orange-haired punk, taking away his gold medal. No, calm down, he told himself. It was a fluke. A brief moment of distraction had amounted to that half-a-second difference, but it was not going to happen again. No way was he going to settle for silver again.

He had never felt more humiliation, than when he touched the other side, cocksure of his win, only to see their scores. His name, Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, listed second under a Japanese swimmer, Ichigo Kurosaki. If that wasn't bad enough, he had to look over and see the irritatingly happy grin on Pretty Boy's face and his thoughts were confirmed:

Pretty Boy, formally known as Ichigo Kurosaki, was a swimmer, and therefore a rival, therefore off-limits. Pretty Boy was a swimmer, an undeniably _good_ swimmer (had to be, if he had taken the gold medal right under Grimmjow's nose). Pretty Boy, no matter how pretty, was quite possibly his biggest competition in all of the Olympics.

His eyes narrowed at Kurosaki as brown eyes glared right back at him. He mouthed, "_Du gehst unter_" [You're going down] but judging by the angry confusion on Kurosaki's face, the words were lost on him. So he flipped him off (discreetly). That got the message across, nice and clear. Hissing, Kurosaki mouthed back something unintelligible. Grimmjow feigned innocence and shrugged, pretending not to see the other swimmer turning red with anger. It was a nice color on him, he noticed idly.

Smirking, he closed his eyes again and lost himself to his music. They still had more events to go, so that meant more chances to redeem and prove himself. And this time? He was going for the gold. Eyes on the prize.

Pretty Boy- no, Ichigo Kurosaki must go down.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** In honor of the Olympics and all them sexy athletes competing. I guess you could call this "live" because I was typing this as I watched the men's swimming. Hur hur hur, not even hidng my pervertedness. Anyhow, I find it doubtful that of all the competitors gathered, not one is not gay and/or vaguely attracted to their fellow athletes. TEAM USA!


End file.
